Passin' Through
by the lurker
Summary: A theme expressed from four different viewpoints.


GUNSMOKE  
"Passin' Through"

His beard itched, and at best he had more saddle sores than he could count; but still he kept movin' on, although the destination was unknown, even to him. He had been ridin' for the better part of three months, near as he could figure, and he hadn't seen a single town in which he'd want to settle down, get to know folks, and maybe start a new life. It was hot out West, and even in mid-June this particular day was fixin' to be a scorcher. He rode on, another three miles or so, until he came to another town. It was sure to be like the last ten.

As he hit the outskirts, he could feel the bustle of a mid-sized town, and as he drew closer, he could hear the clack of horse hooves against the dirt, the click of boots hitting a boardwalk, and the honky-tonk piano of a saloon or two. Yes, it would be no different than the last ten. Still, he was here, he might as well take a look, and at the least, have a beer. He rode past the livery, a glorified barn with hay, then past the telegraph office, a general store, marshal's office, and then stopped across from the saloon that seemed to be the busiest. He tied his horse to a post near the local sawbones' door, and headed across Main Street and into the saloon.

The tall man behind the bar smiled at him. "What can I get you?"

"Beer, thanks."

The tall man with the mustache placed a beer in front of him, and he placed a nickel on the bar. He picked up the mug and took a long drink. It felt ice cold going down his throat, and reminded him of happier times. He could feel the eyes of the bartender upon him, and after a moment, he met the man's gaze.

"Something I can help you with, barkeep?"

The man smiled kindly and shook his head. "No...you just look familiar, that's all. Ever been in these parts before?"

The bearded man in the tattered clothes smiled sadly. "Probably at some point, but it wouldn't matter now anyway."

He glanced around the saloon, and his eyes landed on the owner; at least he thought she might be the owner. She was fair-skinned, with bright blue eyes, and a smile that could light up a room. She caught his eye and walked over to him, smiling.

"Gettin' everything you need there, cowboy?"

His heart shot into his throat and he swallowed hard. "Yes ma'am, everything's just fine, thanks."

She pat his arm. "You in town for long?"

"'Fraid not."

She smiled seductively at him. "Too bad, cowboy, it might have been interesting."

He watched her walk away, and felt a stab in his chest when he looked at her again and realized she had blonde hair, not red. And the emptiness that had become his closest friend came rushing in at him, and he knew it was time to leave. The man drained his beer, and set the empty mug on the bar.

The bartender pointed to the glass. "Can I getcha another?"

"No thanks, friend."

"Staying in town long?"

The man shook his head sadly, "No. Just passin' through."

The bartender watched the man put his hat back on his head and walk out through the doors. He knew the man was familiar - few men were taller than he, and this man had to be 6' 7". He shook his head, he'd seen it before: a man who had been used up by a town, or maybe a town used up by a man; it didn't matter, for the outcome was the same. He was now a drifter, a man who would never settle down anywhere, a man who was constantly passin' through; he was a man who was searching for something he'd never find - the home he had left behind. The barkeep shook his head sadly, and cleared away the mug.

As the man got back on his horse, the irony of it all struck him. A town, so much like the one he left. He was sure that the people who lived here were a tight-knit family, just like his town. But there would never be another town like his, no matter how long he looked, because no other town would have his deputy, his doctor, and his woman. There would never be another Dodge, and ex-Marshal Matt Dillon would spend the rest of his days wondering why he left, but too ashamed to go back.

* * *

Doc put the last bandage on the stranger's arm, and went to the medicine cabinet to fetch some pills. He pulled a bottle, and brought it over to the tall man sitting on his exam table. 

"Here, these'll help with the pain."

"Thanks, Doc."

Adams rubbed a hand across his mustache and chin, stealing another look at the man. He was very tall, with reddish blond wavy hair and blue eyes; he reminded him of Matt, and Doc couldn't stop the surge of sadness that pumped through him.

"Where'd you say you were from?"

"I didn't, Doc."

"Oh. Well, are ya stayin' in Dodge long?"

"Nope. Just passin' through."

"Well if I were you, I wouldn't put too much pressure on that arm, the wound could easily open up again. It might be a good idea for you to stay put for a few day's rest."

"I'll take that under advisement, Doc." Adams looked sharply at the man. "Something wrong, Doc?"

"No, no, there ain't. It's just...you remind me of someone I once knew, that's all."

"A good friend?"

"Yes, very."

"Sounds like someone you miss."

"Oh my yes...every single day."

The stranger stood carefully, and smiled at Doc. "How much do I owe ya?"

Doc eyed the man cautiously, he didn't look like he was too well-heeled in the cash department. "What would you say to buyin' me a beer at the Long Branch?"

"The Long Branch?"

"It's across the street. Buy me a beer, drink it with me, and we'll call it even."

"Fair enough then."

The tall man followed Doc Adams down the steps and across the street into the busiest saloon in town. The tall bartender smiled at Doc, and stared curiously at the tall man with him, but said nothing. The stranger followed Adams to a table in the center of the saloon, and the two of them sat down. There was no sign of Kitty, and momentarily Sam walked over to the table.

"What can I get you boys?"

"A couple of beers, Sam, thanks."

"Sure 'nough, Doc."

The stranger caught the bartender giving him the once over, and when the man was out of earshot he leaned over to the doctor. "Do I look familiar to him too?"

"Probably. But I wouldn't worry about it...you're just passin' through, remember?"

Sam set two ice cold beers on the table, momentarily the tall man placed two bits in payment. "I'll be back with your change."

"Tell you what, keep ten cents on tab for ol' Doc here to have two more beers some time, and you keep a nickel for yourself."

"Thank you kindly."

Doc held out his mug and the man clinked his glass against it. "To fond memories. If you haven't any, I wish you a multitude by the time you reach my ripe old age."

"I'll drink to that, Doc."

After a few minutes of companionable silence, the man drained the last of his beer, put his hat on and stood. "Well Doc, I have to be headin' out."

"What direction ya goin' in?"

"Don't rightly know." He held out his good arm, and Doc shook his hand. "Thank you kindly, Doc, I won't forgetcha."

"Nor I you. But there is one thing..."

"What's that?"

"You never told me your name."

"No Doc, I never did."

Adams watched in fascination as the man walked out of the Long Branch. He wondered how there could be another man so like Matt, yet so different. Doc missed his old friend more than he could say; he just wanted to know that Matt was all right. But it had been a long three months, and they hadn't heard a word. No telegraph, no letter, not even a rumor through the gossip chain. There had been nothing. It was as if Matt Dillon had just fallen off the face of the earth.

Sam interrupted his thoughts. "Doc, you okay?"

"Of course I am," the old man growled.

"Here," Sam said as he handed Doc a handkerchief.

Adams hadn't felt the tears that had streaked down his face, and embarrassed, he wiped them away. "Must've got somethin' in my eye is all..."

"He sure was reminiscent of the marshal."

Adams glared at the bartender for a moment. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to." Sam pat the old doctor on the shoulder as he walked by. "I'll bring you another beer, Doc. It's a hot one today."

Doc sat down in his chair, depleted of energy. "Yes it is, Sam. That it most certainly is..."

And Doc Adams felt suddenly old.

* * *

The deputy sat behind the marshal's desk, annoyed at the two boys standing before him. "Now you listen here, I don't give a hoot n' a holler whutcha done in them other towns you passed on through, ya ain't gonna be shootin' off yer guns on the streets here in Dodge. The marshal ain't never tollertated that, and I sure ain't gonna while I'm a-fillin' in fer him." 

The younger of the two cowboys stared at the man. "Fillin' in? I heared that Matt Dillon retired from this here town. You ain't fillin in for the law, and ya ain't no deputy!"

"That's right," piped up the other one, "You _are_ the law - if that's whatcha call it!"

The two cowboys laughed heartily until Festus stood up, staring them down. He pointed to the badge on his chest.

"This here's a United States Deputy Marshal badge. _Deputy_ Marshal. I ain't the marshal in this town. And ol' Matt's just takin' a little breather is all. Now you two younguns listen ta me. I'm takin' yer guns from you until ya leave Dodge, then ya come on by the office here and I'll give 'em back."

"But Marshal--"

"--I done tolt you boy, I ain't the Marshal."

"Deputy, we can't stay in Dodge without our guns. What if we have ta defend ourselves?"

"That's what I'm paid for in this here town, defendin', so if there's any defendin' goin' on, I'll be a-doin' it faster'n you can say rat run over the roof o' the house with a piece o' raw liver in his mouth." The two cowboys just stared at the man, dumbfounded. "Well? Are ya handin' over them guns, or do I have ta take um from ya?"

The older of the two boys answered. "You know, deputy, we're just passin' through this town, so I 'spose, if'n it's all the same to you, we'll just keep on passin'."

"Don't make no nevermind to me, no sir, just so long as you two young yahoos don't show back up on Main Street a-whoopin' and a-hollerin', and a-firin' them guns of yore'n."

"We won't, deputy."

"All right then."

Festus held his hand out, and each of the cowboys shook it. He tipped his hat to them as they walked out the door of the Marhsal's Office. Festus moved over to the coffee pot and started making a fresh batch of Haggen-style coffee, and a slight pall came over him. It was always at this time of day that Matt would look at him and nod toward the pot. He'd never actually say anything, he'd just nod toward the pot, and Festus would make a good stout batch of Haggen coffee. Then, about fifteen minutes later, ol' Doc would _happen_ by and have a cup. The three of them would sit in companionable silence most of the time, just sipping coffee, or sometimes, they'd discuss the latest town gossip.

The deputy turned from the pot and pulled the old rag from his backpocket, wiping his face of the tears that had fallen there. He missed Matthew, and didn't know how much longer he could keep the State of Kansas at bay regarding the man's absence. He walked over to the desk and opened the top drawer. Reverently he picked up the badge that lay there, and polished it with his sleeve, then he carefully returned it to the drawer.

His voice was soft and tender, "It'll be right here, all polished and a-waitin' fer ya Matthew, when you git back. And I knowed yer gonna come back some day. I'll just be a-settin' here and in you'll walk."

Unable to take the closeness of the room, and all the memories there, Festus put his hat on, and walked out onto Main Street. It always helped to take a walk around town, howdy with folks, and see that Dodge was still there. Matt might have left, but Dodge hadn't. And for Festus, that was at least something to hold onto.

* * *

The saloon buzzed with activity, and Sam could barely keep up with the pouring. Kitty watched him from one end of the bar, marveling at his ability to keep up a conversation, take drink orders, pour, and make change all within the span of five seconds. Through the years she had come to rely on Sam, and she honestly didn't know what she would do without him. She watched a table of cowboys laughing at a prank they played on one fella, but instead of laughing with them, Kitty felt sad. 

Her eyes wandered to their old table, and observed the group of gamblers sitting there now. It had been almost three months since Doc, Festus, she and Matt had been there drinking beers together. _Matt._ Just thinking his name made her eyes tear, which in turn made her angry. There had been no warning. No incident. No trouble. He just woke up one day, walked into his office, handed his badge to Festus and without saying goodbye to anyone, Matt Dillon got on his horse and left Dodge. At first they thought he would come back, that he just needed to get away for a week or two. But as the weeks stretched into months, it became clear that Matt wasn't coming back, nor had he ever contacted any of them to even let them know he was all right. For Kitty, that was the worst part, not knowing.

Doc and Festus hadn't been around much lately, but she could sort of understand it - it hurt to be here; it was a constant reminder of the man who was no longer with them. It was a room full of fond memories, happiness that would never be again. She missed him. And that fact made her yet angrier. How he could have simply left without so much as an "I'll be seein' you around," Kitty couldn't fathom.

The batwing doors swinging open caught her eyes and she stared at the large man standing there. Her heart skipped a beat for a moment, as she stared at his height, the way he rested his hands on his gunbelt, and the grin tugging at his lips; but the moment passed and she knew it was just another drifter or cowpoke passing through town. She could feel Sam's gaze on her, and knew he had thought exactly the same thing for that split second. And that was the cruelest part of all: forever waiting. Waiting for Matt Dillon to walk through those doors and say he was home. But in her heart, she knew that it was only a dream and not reality. Given the way he left, and his lack of contact with any of them, she was certain that he never planned on returning.

But Kathleen Russell wanted to know why. She _needed_ to know. It plagued her soul as surely as a deadly disease, and yet there was no cure. Doc had tried to comfort her, but he soon came to the conclusion that she was inconsolable, and after a couple of months, he stopped trying. Festus had of course been as sweet as any man could be, but even he couldn't take the person she had become. Kitty rarely smiled, and more often than not she would suddenly stare off into space in the middle of a conversation, or, as she knew was the case now, something would remind her of Matt, and tears would flood her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She was horrible company most of the time, and she couldn't blame either Doc or Festus for not wanting to be around her.

It wasn't fair loving Matt this much, knowing that he was out there somewhere, but that she'd never see him again. There were days when Kitty Russell wondered what the point of continuing along in life was; there would be no more happiness for her, no more joy - only sadness and pain. A small smile of irony tugged at her pale lips as the answer dawned on her: life is transient, just like the act of living. At any moment, she could decide that she was just passin' through...

end


End file.
